


After the Fall One-Word Challenges

by rayhne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beta Wanted, Language, Not Beta Read, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayhne/pseuds/rayhne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-word challenges based after the end of season 8, picking up right after the last episode. This is currently not beta read and I would like them to be. If you are interested, please let me know. These are Crowley-centric but other characters will be appearing. Warning: Dean is a bit of a dick in some of the stories.</p><p>Okay, I've lost all corrosion in this story. The scenes contradict each other so I've decided to give up on doing this as an actual story. I've also decided that I really need to work on the sequel to Blind Trust before the readers decide to take matters into their own hands and lock me in a room until its done.</p><p>What I'll be doing is just posting various scenes that take place after the angels fall. There will be scenes unrelated to each other and sometimes different versions of the same scene. I'm doing this just for fun and to get these scenes out of my head.</p><p>Some things do stay consistent through these. There is no Ezekiel; Sam is slowly, very slowly getting better on his own but is still unwell. The Men of Letters is not what the Winchesters believe them to be. Crowley is not the Winchesters' prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decision

**Author's Note:**

> A series of one-word challenges based after the end of season 8, picking up right after the last episode. This is currently not beta read and I would like them to be. If you are interested, please let me know. These are Crowley-centric but other characters will be appearing. Warning: Dean is a bit of a dick in some of the stories.
> 
> Okay, I've lost all corrosion in this story. The scenes contradict each other so I've decided to give up on doing this as an actual story. I've also decided that I really need to work on the sequel to Blind Trust before the readers decide to take matters into their own hands and lock me in a room until its done.
> 
> What I'll be doing is just posting various scenes that take place after the angels fall. There will be scenes unrelated to each other and sometimes different versions of the same scene. I'm doing this just for fun and to get these scenes out of my head.
> 
> Some things do stay consistent through these. There is no Ezekiel; Sam is slowly, very slowly getting better on his own but is still unwell. The Men of Letters is not what the Winchesters believe them to be. Crowley is not the Winchesters' prisoner.

Crowley floated in a haze of pain and despair, barely registering the sound of Dean dragging his younger brother from the ruined church. It took him a long moment to realize that the chanting had stopped and he was alone. With difficulty, he raised his head and looked around, finally realizing that he was alone in the church.

“Moo … Sam?” He tried to twist around, hampered by the sigil-inscribed leather collar. “Sam?” He heard the pleading in his voice and hated himself for it. “Don’t … don’t leave me like this.” There was no response and he slumped in the chair, hands gripping the chair arms tightly. 

Something must had happened to get Sam to stop the ritual and he tried to work out what. Dimly he remembered Dean rushing into the church and he worked at the memory. Dean, saying something about Sam dying if he completed the ritual.

Crowley laughed raggedly. “Trust the Winchesters not to finish what they started,” he muttered to himself. He looked around numbly. “But where does that leave me?”

Alone, bound to a chair in an abandoned church, easy prey for anyone it seemed. 

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the turmoil inside him. For the first time since his death Crowley could feel emotions and he hated it. They tore at him; regret, fear, sorrow. Everything he left behind when he stepped off the rack. Everything he’d willingly left behind. He’d made his choice and resigned himself to it. Who were the Winchesters to decide he was to be cured?

He heard a sound and turned hopefully toward the door but there as no one there. No Sam to finish the ritual, no Dean to put him out of his misery. Had they forgotten about him? That wouldn’t surprise him at all. Well, not from Dean. Sam would probably come back for him, if he were able.

So what should he do now?

He couldn’t free himself, not as he was. He was still demon enough that the sigils and devil’s trap kept him captive, even if he could wiggle free of the bonds. It was only a matter of time before Abaddon acquired a new body and came back for him. If he was lucky she’ll just kill him; if he wasn’t lucky, she’d drag him back to Hell. 

Crowley gave a choked laugh. That would amuse more then a few of his former subjects. Crowley, former King of Hell; now some freakish demon with a soul. Abaddon would be happy to make him her new pet.

But if he were able to regain his power? The number of souls he held gave him more than enough power to trounce even a Knight of Hell. But ….

But was that what he wanted? Unlike most demons, he remembered his human life. He’d fought to remember his human life even as Alastair and his favored apprentices tortured his humanity away; even as he stepped from the rack and picked up a knife himself. He’d remembered his human life but as a demon had no emotions to go with the memories and so had no real meaning to him. But now he did feel and he remembered.

He remembered his human life and why he sold his soul. He remembered how he had died and the centuries on the rack. Memory of that pain tore at him and he twisted against the restraints. Memories of what he’d done as a demon raced through his mind and for the first time in centuries he felt remorse and guilt for things he had done.

There should have been a better way.

A crash drew his attention and he jerked, looking around wildly. Fear tore at him. Was Abaddon back? But no, there was no sign of her. 

“What’s going on?” he muttered to himself, looking toward the ceiling. He could feel … feel grace? “Castiel?”

No, not Castiel. It didn’t feel right. And there was too much of it. His eyes were drawn to a hole in the roof and through it he could see falling stars. Hundreds of falling stars.

Only they weren’t stars.

“Angels,” he muttered to himself. “The angels are falling.”

So Hell was still opened and the angels were falling. The Winchesters had fucked up again. Big surprise. 

The demonic side of him kicked in. If the angels were falling and Hell still open … well, that left Earth wide open. And maybe Heaven as well. The things a clever demon could do with all that raw material. The problem was … he wasn’t exactly a demon any longer.

But he could be. He could feel demon essence twisting within him but he could feel a human soul as well. Sam had taken him to the very edge but was stopped before bringing him over completely. Was it possible for him to do so, to tip himself over the edge himself? Not to human but back to demon. Away from the raw unwanted emotions that tore at him and back to the emotional numbness of a demon. He could own not only Hell but Purgatory, Earth and, dare he think it, Heaven.

But was that what he truly wanted?

Crowley watched the falling angels, watched as their wings were burnt away and was surprised to feel sorrow. Was Castiel among them? Was he falling, his wings shriveling away in fire?

Images ran through his mind. The young prophet with his missing finger, shooting Castiel and dig the angel tablet from his guts, the snapping of a young girl’s neck, torture, rape, murder … the things he had done. As a human, he’d have to deal with what he’d done and all the emotions associated with them. But as a demon, well, he wouldn’t care.

He had a chance to rule the world. Hell, Earth, Heaven. He knew he was strong enough, clever enough, no matter what Abaddon may think.

Watching as the last of the angels fell, Crowley made his decision.


	2. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam returns to the church.

It took Sam two weeks to convince Dean to go back. 

For the first few days he was too weak and feverish to do little more than mutter a plea that Dean could barely make out. By the fifth day he was more coherent with his demands but Dean ignored him. When he was finally well enough to stand and walk on his own he insisted on returning to the church.

“I can’t believe you just left him there, Dean. You never went back?”

“Well, excuse me for worrying about you trying cough up a lung,” Dean snapped back. “Why the hell would care about that douchebag?”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” Sam grumbled. “But he was human … well, almost human. Maybe human enough to need food and water.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “And we should care because …”

Sam scowled. “I wasn’t expecting you to but I spent eight hours pumping my blood into him so pardon me for wondering what happened.”

It was Dean’s turn to scowl but he said nothing more and Sam resumed staring out of the car window. A part of him knew Crowley was no longer at the church. He wasn’t sure how he knew; he just knew. 

Dean rolled the Impala to a stop outside the church. It looked differently in the daytime; more decrepit but less scary. Gathering up the demon-killing knife, a bottle of holy water and a flashlight, Sam reached for the door.

“Coming?” he asked his brother, getting his answer from the glare Dean sent him. “Fine. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Don’t forget the chains,” Dean muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Sam closed the door firmly and walked toward the church. He eased open the door.

“Crowley?” he called softly, not really expecting an answer.

He didn’t get one.

Turning on the flashlight, he flipped it around the room, finally centering on the empty chair still inside the devil’s trap. He looked at it for a long moment then walked around the trap, eyeing it intently. Nope, no breaks. Walking into the trap he examined the chair, lifting the chains and collar and looking at them closely. 

The left cuff was still closed but caked thickly with dried blood and scraped-off skin. There was blood on the other cuff as well but it was open. A closer look revealed scratches around the lock. Reaching for the collar, he saw scratches there as well.

He stared at them thoughtfully, scenarios running through his mind. Finally he rose, walking over to grab a box and tossing everything they had brought to the church two weeks ago into it. Dropping the restraints on the top, he gathered up the box and walked out, dropping it into the trunk, which Dean already had open.

“He’s gone. Maybe a week ago or more. Good thing or he probably would have starved to death by now.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s human or close to it. The devil’s trap is still intact and look.” Sam showed him the left cuff. “He must have managed to pull his hand through the cuff then picked the locks of the other cuff and the collar. Don’t think he could have done that if he were still a demon.”

“Or someone did it for him.” 

Sam looked at the cuff he still held then his bandaged arm, at the as yet unhealed bite. “No. He did this,” he said, no doubt in his voice. Ignoring the look Dean gave him, Sam looked up and around. He knew Crowley was long gone and yet — yet he could still feel him.


	3. Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missouri receives an ... expected visitor.

Missouri knew he was coming.

Of course she did. She was a real psychic, no matter what some people thought. She had known what the Winchesters had been up to and had also known nothing she could have said or done would have stopped them. It had been a 'fixed point of time', as someone has once said. Unchangeable. The outcome had been flexible but not even she had known for certain what that outcome would be. There had been many possibilities.

But this -- man now standing outside her door; his future was flexible as well. There were so many possibilities; some of them shining bright, others darker then she could ever imagine.

"Well?" She demanded, setting the empty glass down.

He blinked holy water from his eyes and shook his head to get rid of excess water. The movement obviously made him dizzy and he reached out to grab the doorframe to steady himself.

"I need your help," he said plainly.

Missouri looked him over, taking in the suit that had obviously seen better days, the wrist scraped raw, the fingers broken in his struggle to break free of the chains, the raw inflamed injection marks on his neck. He hadn't bathed in a while and she wrinkled her nose at the smell of him.

He looked docile enough but Missouri wasn't fooled. He had fire in him still but it was the fire of the human spirit, not the fires of Hell. 

"You might as well come in." She stepped aside to allow the former King of Hell into her home.

*******

"You've a bit of the psychic in you," Missouri said as she cleaned the injection marks.

Crowley blinked. "Yes. My mother. She was a -- a wise woman in her day. Taught me what she could." He finished with a slightly furtive look.

Missouri snorted. "Grab something. This is going to hurt." Ignoring his grunts of pain, she use a scalpel to slit the punctures, just deep enough to clean out the infection. "And didn't your mama ever tell you not to lie to psychics?"

Crowley laughed raggedly. "Not in so many words."

A shower had washed away the dirt and blood, leaving his wounds to bleed freely. His wrist was already bandaged, the broken fingers set. Now Missouri placed a thick bandage on his neck, covering the injection marks. 

"Those are going to scar," she remarked as she gathered up the medical supplies.

"My penance," he said dryly, pulling on the shirt she had offered him, not surprised that it fit. Everything fit; the black jeans, sneakers, long-sleeved t-shirt. "So now what? How do I convince the Winchesters that I really am on their side? Or rather, that they shouldn’t just kill me.”

Missouri gave him a sharp look. "Sam won't need much convincing."

He winced at the look in her eyes. "That wasn't my intention. They wouldn't have believed me even if they'd given me a chance to explain. You know that."

"True enough."

"And that surprised me. I always thought Sam was smarter than the average moose but he just didn't think their plan through. They found something they thought would solve their problems and they just barreled full-steam ahead without bothering to think things through."

Despite herself, Missouri's lips quirked into a smile. "The Winchester way. Nothing anyone could have said would have stopped this."

Crowley looked up at her somberly. "So how do I convince them?"

"I could talk to them but I don't think that will be enough." She sat down in the chair across from him. "I have a few ideas."

He listened to her, surprised at some of the things she said, doubtful about others.

"I see how that might work," he said once she was finished. "But by now Abaddon would have managed to spread her influence. Any loyal followers I have left would have switched sides, not that I really blame them. She has to know about -- well, about my little insurance policy." He grimaced. "I didn't hide that as well as I should have. And besides, I'm not exactly in any position to command demons and I'd need an army to accomplish this. What?" He asked, suspicious of Missouri's knowing smile.

She raised an eyebrow at him, saying nothing. He frowned then turned his head sharply at an unexpected sound. It was a familiar sound and yet not familiar. Hie eyes narrowed.

It couldn't be.

Crowley looked at Missouri, who only nodded. "Think about it," she said.

He couldn't think about it; his thoughts were whirling too much to connect the dots. After a moment, he rose, walking through the kitchen to the back door. Missouri followed, watching as he opened the door, staring over the yard in astonishment.

"There is your army," Missouri said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple be tough. As in, try real hard not to make Dean a total jerk. I expect little success.


	4. Note: A change to this series

I started this with no idea where it was going. Well, now I have an idea but it is a sharp left turn from what I've already written so ..... the series, from here on in, is totally new and different. Note: it makes retro-changes to canon. Or maybe it doesn't. While I keep up with the Supernatural Wiki, I don't really watch the series. I should start posting again this weekend.


	5. Visitor 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is n alternate version of Visitor, posted earlier. The change is mostly in the ending and continues (more or less) in the next bit.

Missouri knew he was coming.

Of course she did. She was a real psychic, no matter what some people thought. She had known what the Winchesters had been up to and had also known nothing she could have said or done would have stopped them. It had been a 'fixed point of time', as someone has once said. Unchangeable. The outcome had been flexible but not even she had known for certain what that outcome would be. There had been many possibilities.

But this -- man now standing outside her door; his future was flexible as well. There were so many possibilities; some of them shining bright, others darker then she could ever imagine.

"Well?" She demanded, setting the empty glass down.

He blinked holy water from his eyes and shook his head to get rid of excess water. The movement obviously made him dizzy and he reached out to grab the doorframe to steady himself.

"I need your help," he said plainly.

Missouri looked him over, taking in the suit that had obviously seen better days, the wrist scraped raw, the fingers broken in his struggle to break free of the chains, the raw inflamed injection marks on his neck. He hadn't bathed in a while and she wrinkled her nose at the smell of him.

He looked docile enough but Missouri wasn't fooled. He had fire in him still but it was the fire of the human spirit, not the fires of Hell.

"You might as well come in." She stepped aside to allow the former King of Hell into her home.

*******

"You've a bit of the psychic in you," Missouri said as she cleaned the injection marks.

Crowley blinked. "Yes. My mother. She was a -- a wise woman in her day. Taught me what she could." He finished with a slightly furtive look.

Missouri snorted. "Grab something. This is going to hurt." Ignoring his hiss of pain, she used a scalpel to slit the punctures, just deep enough to clean out the infection. "And didn't your mama ever tell you not to lie to psychics?"

Crowley laughed raggedly. "Not in so many words."

A shower had washed away the dirt and blood, leaving his wounds to bleed freely. His wrist was already bandaged, the broken fingers set. Now Missouri placed a thick bandage on his neck, covering the injection marks. 

"Those are going to scar," she remarked as she gathered up the medical supplies.

"My penance," he said dryly, pulling on the shirt she had offered him, not surprised that it fit. Everything fit; the black jeans, sneakers, long-sleeved t-shirt. "So now what?” He slumped back, sprawling bonelessly in a manner he wouldn’t have a week ago, legs stretched out in front of him. “How do I convince them I’m not still a demon? That I’m not what I was before.” He flicked a look at her. 

She arched an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and she sighed.

“Yes, I can get in touch with them. As to whether I should …” She let her voice trail off as she eyed the former demon - now human sitting across from her. He stared back, not saying a word. Weariness was etched in his face, his body limp with exhaustion. Missouri stood abruptly, startling the man. “Go get some sleep. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m not …” he started then stopped, blinking rapidly. Missouri smirked, figuring that he was trying to work out when he last sleep. “Right.” Rising slowly, he made his way to the spare room, limping slightly.

Missouri waited until she knew he was asleep before picking up the phone. “Hello. Yes, he’s here. No, don’t come. I’ll drive him.” She heard out the expected protests and said firmly. “It’s very important that I drive him. We will see you the day after tomorrow.” She set the phone down and went to the kitchen.


	6. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This bit is something kind of silly and funny and makes me wonder if I stumbled on to a new 'buddy' team in Supernatural. Arariel is based loosely on Parker from Leverage. I will eventually explain Simon. :) This was written because I had big problems in 9x2 where Dean is telling a Hunter that angels are just monsters with better PR. I go into this deeper in another scene.

Missouri didn’t know why she felt she had to drive Crowley to his destination. When she found out the reason she was surprised for the first time in a long time.

Her intuition had her pulling off the road somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Crowley stirred next to her, straightening to look around.

“What?” he asked nervously. With no powers and demons hunting for him, he disliked anything that might call attention to them.

Missouri shook her head as she opened the door. “Come on.”

“Come on? Come where?” Despite his words, Crowley opened his door and stepped out, looking around. He shivered and drew the jacket he wore closer. “What is … ack!” He stumbled back as a woman ran headlong into him. Automatically he grabbed her, holding her steady as he regained his footing. “What … hey!” He jumped away as the woman swung the sword she held wildly. He blinked, recognizing the blade for what it was.

“Angel blade? You’re an angel?” 

The woman’s eyes widened and she raised the sword once again.

“We are not Hunters.” Missouri said in a surprisingly calm voice.

“Hunter? No!” Crowley blurted. “About the furtherest from Hunters as we can get. Honest!” He held out his hands. “See? No weapons.”

The woman hesitated, looking behind her fearfully.

“Oh great. There’s Hunters after you?” Crowley glared at Missouri. “Lovely side trip. Come on, you.” Opening the back door, he grabbed the surprised woman and bundled her into the back. Missouri was already back in the driver’s seat, starting the car and pulling away even as Crowley shut the door after him. “Did you know … hey! Careful with that.” He glared at the angel, his hand holding the sword away from his throat. “We’re trying to help here!” He paused, blinking in obvious surprise at the thought he was actually helping an angel.

“Why?” The angel asked fiercely. “Why would you help me? You know what I am?”

“Maybe because I know what it’s like to be hunted for what you are.” Crowley said curtly. He glanced at Missouri, seeing only the back of her head and scowled. Obviously she was leaving him to deal with this. “Look, I’m not taking your sword. I could have but I haven’t. And neither of us are armed. Well, she might be but she hasn’t told me. Not against you,” he added hastily. “A precaution against me. Just in case, I guess.”

The angel had stopped struggling and Crowley released her wrist. She drew it back slowly, finally resting the sword against her lap. Now that she had calmed down Crowley could see that her vessel was young, perhaps in her twenties with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. She was dressed in a 1960s flower girl style with sleeveless blouse and loose colorful skirt, something very much at odds with the sword she held. 

“Against you?” She said. “Why?”

Crowley looked at Missouri again but there was no help coming from the woman, just a knowing smirk. He cleared his throat. “Well, you see … please don’t kill me … but I used to be a demon.”

Her hand tightened on her sword. “Demon?”

“Former King of Hell, actually. Please note the former. Crowley, at your service.”

The angel’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at Missouri, who only nodded, seemingly amused by the whole situation.

“I’m human now.” He said hastily. “Cured. Long story. Those damn Winchesters and their constant meddling.”

“Winchesters?” She hissed.

Crowley blinked. “Yes, Winchesters. They were trying to close the doors of Hell … not the brightest move but they aren’t the brightest people …”

“Crowley.” Missouri chided.

He rolled his eyes. “You have to admit, they did not think it through.” He looked curiously at the angel. “And what’s your beef with them?”

“Beef?” She tilted her head in confusion.

“Why are you upset with the Winchesters?” he clarified.

Her lips thinned. “I heard the humans chasing me talking. They said that the Winchesters had passed the word that Angels were just another kind of monsters with …” She paused, frowning, trying to remember the wording. “With better PR.”

“Oh great! They’ve declared open season on Angels.” Crowley met Missouri’s eyes in the mirror. “This is going to be a mess.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “It might be best if you come with us.”

“Where?” The angel asked warily. 

“To a safe place.” 

“That’s helpful.” Crowley sighed. “Have you ever heard of the Men of Letters?”

The angel went completely still, staring at him. She stared for so long that he grew nervous and began to squirm.

“What?” he said weakly.

Her eyes narrowed and she pointed at him accusingly. “You’re Simon!”

“What!” Crowley absolutely refused to admit that he squawked, no matter what Missouri would later claimed. “That’s a big leap, isn’t it? I mean …” His eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

“It has been centuries but I wouldn’t think you’d forget.” She said dryly. “I did kill you rather spectacularly.”

“That was you? That was … bloody painful! Will you stop laughing?” The last bit was directed at Missouri, who ignored the admonishment and continued laughing. Crowley scowled before turning back to the angel. “Who are you?”

The angel looked from him to Missouri then back again. “Arariel.” She said.

“Okay, Arariel. Like I said, I’m Crowley. This is Missouri and we’re heading for somewhere safe. Well, safer. Now why did you have to make it so painful?”

Arariel blinked. “What? Killing you?” To Crowley’s surprise, she smirked at him. “I get secret orders to go to this certain place to face a pack of demons and destroy all of them but one. I was only to pretend to destroy that one.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “And no one else knows?” 

“I got the order directly from Joshua and neither of us has spoken to anyone about it. I never even knew why.” She looked at him questioningly.

“I’ll explain later.” He leaned back, staring broodingly out the window.


	7. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley awaits judgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows Angel.

The hood didn’t surprise him and neither did the restraints. Crowley was led into the room by someone. Once seated in a chair, the hood was removed, leaving him blinking in the bright light. A single light, casting the rest of the room in darkness. 

“Seriously?” He looked up at the light and then away, squinting into the darkness. He could vaguely make out some figures. “I feel like I’m in a 50’s police melodrama.”

This brought a chuckle from someone and he almost smiled. 

“Could I have some water? Please? This is going to take awhile.”

A table was set next to him, a pitcher of water and a glass placed on it. With a murmur of thanks, he filled the glass and cradled it in his hands. After a moment’s thought, he started to talk.

He talked for hours, draining one pitcher and receiving another. His voice faltered more than once and faded away as well, caught up in memories and emotion, no matter how hard he tried to suppress both. Finally he reached the end and fell silent, rolling the glass between his palms as he studied the darkness.

A figure approached. He couldn’t see her face but the figure and the confident walk were familiar. “Did you ever tell anyone?”

She didn’t specify what but he knew. His lips quirked. 

“No. Never. I hadn’t fall that far.”

“An unfallen darkling,” a woman’s voice murmured from the darkness. “Who’d’ve thunk it?”

This time he did smile. “Not a darkling any longer. I’m as human as — well — most folks here.” 

“You went off the rails toward the end.” Another person, this one a man, said sharply.

“Yes, well. Not actually a surprise. Bound to happen sooner or later. Only I got a chance — one in a trillion chance — to redeem myself. And I took it. I’m human again. By my own choice. So will I be judged for what I did as a demon?” He threw a pointed look into the darkness. “All that I did as a demon. Or will I be given a chance?”

“He’s been tested every way possible.” The second woman spoke again. “Physically he is human, his soul untainted. He was a good man once, he deserves the chance to be a good man again.” She threw the words out like a challenge.

“The people he has killed …” The man started angrily and Crowley flinched.

“Careful.” The second woman warned. There was an undercurrent in her voice that made Crowley squint in her direction.

All during this exchange the first woman stood in front of him. He couldn’t tell rather she was studying him or listening to the exchange behind her. Or both.

“It’s not often a demon gets a second chance,” she said suddenly. “I, for one, am not about to throw it away. Especially considering … everything. You will, of course, be on probation. Perhaps for years.”

“Of course.” He readily agreed, ignoring the sputter of protests behind her.

“And appointments have already been set up with the doctor.”

“Doctor?” Crowley thought back on the days of testing he’d just been through. He started as hands unlocked the restraints. Slowly he rose, watching as the Director walked into the light.

“A psychologist.” She crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow. “I rather think you’ll need one.”

Crowley grimaced but didn’t protest. 

“And don’t worry. She’s an old friend.” There was a smile bordering on a smirk on the woman’s face.

“An old … “ He blinked in realization. “Last time I saw her she was the librarian.”

“That was in the 1800s.” The Director said dryly.

“Oh. It has been a while then.” 

“You will be going to the Midsomer community, where the academy is.”

Crowley nodded, surprised to feel relief.

“Jim will be escorting you.” She nodded to Crowley’s left and he glanced at the young man standing there, recognizing him as the one who’d been escorting him since he’d arrived. “I rather suspect we’re going to be needing your help cleaning up this mess the Winchesters have managed to make.”

Crowley grimaced and slid his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders. “I handled that badly,” he admitted. 

“You’d have done it differently, if you were human?” The man, still hiding in the darkness, asked curtly.

“I’d have handled a lot of thing different, had I been human. But I was demon and I reacted as a demon. I tried to rein myself in but sometimes it just wasn’t possible.”

“No urge for torture? Or blood?” The Director asked, eying him intently.

“No, none.” He frowned, shaking his head slowly. “It’s weird, like a part of me has been cut out. Not that I miss it but …” He shrugged helplessly then tilted his head at the sound of claws clicking on the floor. “Oh no …”

He turned just in time to catch the wolf leaping at him. They tumbled to the ground with her trying to lick him and he trying to hold her back.

“Off! Off! Gorram it, will …. Blah! … Stop it. Ugh! Help! Anyone!”

“Is this part of his redemption?” Crowley vaguely heard Jim asked.

“It is now,” was the Director’s rather unhelpful reply.

“Whoa! Hey!” Jim sounded startled and Crowley managed to heave the wolf to one side to see Arariel charging toward him, her sword in hand. “No! It’s okay.” He managed to get to his knees, holding the now-snarling wolf back. “She’s a friend.” 

“But it …” Arariel hesitated, staring at the still-snarling wolf, obviously uncertain as what she really was.

“She’s a friend.” Crowley said firmly then shook the wolf as best as he could. “Stop it.”

The wolf whined and butted him lightly before knocking him over by attempting to roll against him.

Arariel blinked, looking at the Director in bewilderment. The older woman chuckled, reaching out to turn her and shoo her from the room. “A long story. One I’m sure Simon will tell you later.”

“I will? Oof! Will you stop it?”

The wolf’s sharp bark sounded suspiciously like a ‘no!’.


	8. Book(case)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This really doesn't fit anywhere but it's cute so .... This assumes that Castiel and Crowley are with the Men of Letters.

Castiel walked toward his room, nodding absently at anyone who greeted him. His latest session had gone well; at least he thought it had. Tomorrow’s, though, tomorrow’s would be hard. Just like it always was when …. He paused with a frown, head tilted as he listened.

Someone was in his room

Reaching out, he pushed the door open, blinking at the sight within. Crowley was there, sitting on the floor, a unfolded piece of paper in his hands and several items scattered around him. He was muttering to himself as he looked over the paper then glared at the various sizes of wood around him.

“What are you doing?” Castiel said, his voice remote.

The former demon started guiltily, looking up at him. “I, uh, I was just …” he stuttered and Castiel realized he was having one of his low days, a day when he was almost maniacally apologetic and remorseful. “I was just …” Crowley looked around, as if trying to work out what he was doing here.

Castiel wasn’t really worried. If Crowley were a danger to him, he wouldn’t have been allowed in the room. Obviously people knew he was here and why he was here. Now he just had to work it out.

“Crowley,” he sighed. 

“You’re back early!” Crowley protested, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. He frowned, looking for a moment very much like that Grumpy Cat someone had once showed him. “No, you’re not. Damn.” He glared at the paper still in his hands before shaking it at the former angel, looking ready to burst into tears. “These instructions are impossible!”

“What instructions?” Castiel asked in a reasonable tone.

“These!” Crowley gestured around him almost angrily before collapsing into himself and giving Castiel a sheepish look. “You’ve been so nice to me … well … rather not as mean as you could be,” he finally muttered. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.” He looked around the room, at the untidy stacks of books against the wall. “So I thought I’d put together a bookcase. Only …” he glared at the paper. “These instructions make no sense!”

Castiel stepped carefully over and around the bookcase parts and sat on the bed, reaching for the instructions. After a moment’s hesitation, Crowley let him take them then sat back, watching as he scanned them. Finally he looked up.

“These instructions make no sense,” he said blandly.

“Yes! See! Told you so.” Crowley returned to glaring at the bits and pieces around him.

“Well.” Castiel carefully folded the instructions until he was looking at the list of parts. He reached for a pencil. “Let’s see if we have all the parts. First we need two long pieces marked ‘A’ …”

Crowley hastily looked around, finally finding the two pieces and carefully setting them aside.

***

The doctor walked down the hall, pausing to chat with one person or another. It wasn’t easy being a therapist in an organization as unique as the Men of Letters. One day she might be working with someone dealing with every day issues, the next she’d be helping a newly-born vampire. And then there’s the instinctive rivalry between the various species that needed to be dealt with. The Wehr disliked the Were and were constantly baiting each other. The old world Vampires continually tried to lord it over the newer day-walking Vampyres, with predictable results. Not to mention that every now and then someone would take exception to her … and the results of that shouldn’t be mentioned.

And then there were these two.

She paused at Castiel’s door, which was open. Undoubtedly the former angel had left it open when he realized the former demon was here but both of them seemed to have forgotten it. The pair of them were crouched over the partially assembled bookcase, the instructions between them. 

She’d have to thank Frenchy for his work at carefully tweaking the instructions to the point were it was difficult for one person to work them out.


End file.
